


the way to the heart is through pancakes.

by happybibliosaurus



Series: Home for the holidays [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Fluff, M/M, Pancakes, Tower avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29495991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybibliosaurus/pseuds/happybibliosaurus
Summary: Clint is terrible at feelings but great at pancakes.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Home for the holidays [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166555
Kudos: 57





	the way to the heart is through pancakes.

**Author's Note:**

> I realise that Pancake Day is a British thing, but it is also my favourite holiday because it is just an excuse to eat lots of pancakes. And I love pancakes. So, I wrote a little fic about Clint and pancakes to celebrate.
> 
> “Someone who eats pancakes and jam can't be so awfully dangerous. You can talk to him.” - Tove Jansson
> 
> (also, I'm not attached to the title if someone has a better suggestion.)

It had all started when a very sleep-deprived Clint had woken up in a safe house with a freezing-cold knife pressed into his throat and a scarlet-haired assassin staring him right in the eye, daring him to make a mistake and let himself be stabbed. It had been a long mission, the target had been leading him on a wild goose chase from the beginning, and he was _tired._ So fucking tired. And yeah, maybe he should have made sure the house was fully secure before he flopped onto the bed and passed out entirely, but would that have stopped the Black Widow from getting in if she wanted to? He had very much doubted it at the time, and after years of working with Nat, he knew it to be 100% true. But that didn't stop the fact that he had woken up with her looming over him, knife in neck and thighs pinning him down. There had been no escape from her grip and no weapons in reach, so he had resorted to some good old Barton-charm. Cool and calmly, he had smiled widely up at her, not taking his eyes off her, and made the offer.  
  
  
“If you don’t kill me now, I’ll make you some pancakes”  
  
  
A minuscule smirk had appeared on her lips, and the pressure on the knife released ever so slightly, telling Clint he might, just might, have a chance to turn this around and survive the night.  
freezing-cold “I make really good pancakes, I promise you.”  
  
  
A long stare-off had continued silently between the two of them before she had slowly removed the knife from his throat and sat down on his legs. She slipped the knife back into her jacket, and he let out the breath he had been holding.  
  
  
“Prove it, and I will not stab you tonight.”  
  
  
It had been the start of a beautiful, batter-based, syrup-covered friendship.  
  
  
(She waited to the next day to stab him, but by then her heart was no longer in it, and he had easily gotten the knife off her and brought her into SHIELD with promises to make more pancakes.)

  
  


**[#] ******

****  
  
** **

Clint had many talents; He could kill a man at 100ft whilst jumping from a building on a windy day with a broken leg. He could annoy an evil villain into calling off their revenge plans and surrendering, begging for him to just 'shut the hell up!'. He could drink 8 cups of coffee and still somehow fall into a deep sleep immediately afterwards, despite the insane caffeine intake. But when it came to cooking, well, Clint was severely lacking in any skills. On more than one occasion, fire engines had come to his flat to squash a fire he had started, yet the frozen pizza he had been attempting to cook was somehow still undercooked.  
  
  
But pancakes, Clint could _make_ pancakes.  
  
  
He was the absolute best at pancakes. There was no competition.  
  
  
He had had a lot of sleepless nights to practice with.  
  
  
French Crepes, America Pancakes, Scotch or Blinis, he was king of them all.

  
  


Alongside cooking, Clint was equally as terrible at dealing with people's feelings. He found it was easier to just made pancakes instead.  
  
**[#]**   
After the Battle of New York, Clint had been unable to sleep, the adrenaline and anxiety still coursing through his body, so he had pulled out a bowl and started mixing.  
  
  
Flour, eggs, milk, a little whisking, then move to the frying pan. Wait a minute, then flip it and wait another minute. Then serve with the topping of your choice. Easy and as instinctive as shooting.  
  
  
As he had gone through the familiar rhythm a crowd had gathered, watching him in anticipation, so he kept going until the pile of pancakes was enough to fill them all. The hour that followed was filled with the contented murmurings of his new friends, hungrily eating there fill.  
  
  
Ever since then, Tony had kept the tower’s cupboards full of pancake supplies, and whenever Clint couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares, he would drag his body up to the kitchen and see who would turn up and join him.  
  
  
If it was Nat, Clint got out the syrups, covering the pancakes until they were completely drowned in sugar.  
  
  
If was Thor he layered them up with chocolate spreads, making sure there was a good inch on every one of them. Then he would brace himself for the boom of delight and slap over the shoulders he would receive in return.  
  
  
For Steve, he decorated them in whipped cream, blueberries and strawberries, in a pattern that matched Steve’s shield and made him laugh in delight.  
  
  
Tony got crepes with a sprinkle of Cointreau and sugar to match his fancy billionaire tastebuds, and for Bruce, he pulled out the fancy Lemon and Ginger ice cream that he saved for that was saved for topping pancakes.  
  
  
When they gradually collected new members of the team Clint branched out into other fillings, bonding with Sam over peanut butter and jelly, and winning Wanda over with bananas and chocolate chips.  
  
  
It became a routine for him to wandered in at 2 am and whip up a new batch of pancakes for whoever was there. The cover of darkness made it easier to talk to people, and the pancakes gave Clint a way to show that he understood his teammates and cared for them.

  
  


**[#] ******

****  
  
** **

It had been one month since Steve and Sam had dragged the Winter Soldier back to the tower, claiming he was just Bucky now when Clint walked into the kitchen at god-knows-when in the morning and found the eyes of someone who had ever more terrifying nightmares staring back at him. Clint froze for a moment, recognizing too much of himself in those eyes and forgetting for a moment the danger that they could signify. Shaking himself back mentally, he padded quietly around the kitchen island and gave Bucky a nod of recognition.  
  
  
“You doing good pal?” Clint asked, trying to assess whether he should be grabbing a knife or calling up Steve.  
  
  
Barnes gave him a mournful grunt in response, which Clint took to mean that he wasn’t exactly doing great, but it was at least not the Winter Soldier sitting there. Clint could deal with that. Getting a closer look, he noted that Barnes was dressed in the black hoodie he always wore, his long black hair half-hiding his stubble and blood-shot eyes. He looked exhausted and despondent, his usual expression even grumpier than usual, but Clint was sure he could turn that frown upside down.  
  
  
Very aware of who was watching him, Clint went through his routine, pulling out a bowl, whisk and pan, and started mixing. He hummed as he went, lost in his own thoughts, all while Bucky watched on in an interested manner until he had two piles of soft fluffy pancakes.  
  
  
“Welcome to Bartons’s International House of Pancakes,” he announced passing over a warm plate to Bucky. He got a look of suspicion in return until curiosity got the better of Barnes and he carefully tucked into them.  
  
  
They ate silently, with only moonlight lighting up the room, Clint discreetly watching Bucky out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t until both plates where empty that Bucky broke the silence that sat between them.  
  
  
“Cherry Pie filling?” he questioned, licking it off his metal fingers, “It was my favourite as a child. Did Stevie tell you?”  
  
  
“Nope, just a lucky guess,” Clint murmured, leaning back with a grin.  
  
  
The smile that he got back from Barnes was soft and warm, and Clint took note of how beautiful it made his face.  
  
  
The way to everyone’s heart was through pancakes. Good job he was so great at them.


End file.
